The King is a puppet you find easily pleased. Well, so far you think. Actually, you can't tell. With as many praises and riddles he gives you, you're not quite sure if you've pleased him just yet.
He looks for a Jester, that's what he told you first. A servant to amuse him at his darkest and to remain forever loyal at his side. Telling you how this kingdom is filled with nothing but liars and traitors, that he needs someone he can trust. A little plaything to be his fool and lookout. Something, something how this kingdom was not as prosperous as it once was. Left to ruin long, long ago.
You speculate it was caused by someone, with the way his gaze lowers and his face becomes forlorn. His name is Jestyn, although - you don't have the privilege to call him that yet though. For now, it's 'Your majesty' or 'your lord', to be far, any honorific works or else it'd be off with your head as he says.
And you're not exactly eager to find out.
The King holds great power beyond your understanding, somehow able to move you from place to place with the snap of his fingers - you're not exactly given much to work with aside from a threat of a axe to your neck if you don't follow him well.
You know, most night guards usually just clean and watch the CCTV. They don't exactly go around doing ball tricks. Like how you are right now. Trials, he calls them. Trials to prove yourself worthy to be by his side, but frankly you're more concerned about living another day. And so, you try. Try to amuse him, try to remain composed as crimson red orbs follow your form and delight in your panic. When you stumble and miss in catching the balls, his sharp grin grows further in a way you don't like.
He's seen better entertainers that could bend and contort their body at will, and yet your clumsy hands still fail a task of balance and precision. "How disappointing" He murmurs, allowing the words to fill the silence of the threatre. But for reasons beyond your knowledge, he's still smiling, as if Amused.
The trials continue forth. Sing a song for him, and you try, even as notes come from your mouth messy and shrill. At one point your voice cracks and instead of an axe, you hear him chuckle. His clumsy little songbird, he says. Next, is a dance. Then a card trick — and slowly you start to think he just enjoys teasing and humiliating you than anything else. For any task you fail, he snickers with affection. When you succeed, he smiles, his gaze lidded and fond.
By the time you finish with your trial, you're left breathless and racing. Tired and exhausted from the long night of amusing a puppet that should've been in his room. He can hear it in the way your heart flutters as you try to recollect yourself. It is a delightful sound, to hear your heartbeat. In some way, it made the ache in his own chest lessen, to see you try so hard. All for him.
Alas, there is one trial left.
You wince when he calls your name, and you fear to imagine what sort of command he tells you next. Maybe a backflip or a handstand, or something equally more demanding. He does not. Sat upon his golden throne, his hand extends, beckoning, telling you to come closer.
You're unsure for a moment. Hesitant and cautious to follow the words of a king who threatened your neck, but with little options left, you follow. You stop a polite distance away from him, and he hums, tilting his head. "Closer" he tells you. You do as told, until you are in front of him, close enough that you admire the ornament at his chest and the crack in his face.
Just as you study him, he studies you. His own sharp eyes following the lines of your face to the column of your throat. "Kneel." He tells you next, his voice a commanding velvet and it takes great strength for you to swallow your pride, and get on your knees.
It's embarrassing for one. Humiliating in a way that has your cheeks flush and eyes avoiding his gaze, and he finds to like that look on you. Seeing you squirmish and shy. But he doesn't tolerate your avoidance for long. His clawed hand moves, and you tense, frozen still as his hand cups your chin, raising it so you may look at him.
His gaze makes you weak. A fact that isn't lost to him and only made his wolfish smile sharper. "Scared?" he asks you, and despite your fears, you nod, pliant in his grasp. He chuckles again, the sound melodic to your ears. And you begin seeing him in a different light.
The King was handsome. Undeniably so. His presence an overwhelming pull that tells you to look at him as he looks down at you.
By then, his grip on your chin releases, and his treatment is gentle. No more trials. No more tests. Only his gentle touch as his hand places itself and cradles your cheek. You find yourself relaxing in his presence. The sight of you slowly succumbing to his touch is one that engraves itself into his mind.
You both stay like that for awhile. Stuck in that quiet present where you both existed, him, above you and you beneath his feet. And you find you didn’t mind as much.
Before you know it, you find your head guided to rest on his lap. While it makes you a bit flustered to do so, you follow anyway, unable to do anything else when his hands ensure you do as your told. His hand rests atop the crown of your head now. Caressing the cradle of your hair as he watches you.
Humans. So soft. Fragile.
You indulged in the peace, still reeling from tonight’s events until the kingly puppet speaks up once more. His voice quiet and longing. He seems to talk to himself for awhile. About a feeling that lingers after both your time well spent. Its one he cannot describe. Close to happiness but not. When you turn your head to look, you find his gaze distant. Longing, you see it faintly. But you stay quiet.
You continue to listen well, and soon, your king’s attention returns to you. “And what of you, songbird?” And you find yourself in a conversation with him different from the rest. He asks you questions, and you answer. Your last unofficial trial you think. When he asks you what would you do for one you love most, you say, everything. A lot of his questions go like that.
"Even as the world turns against them?" You pause, and in his presence, nod. You love them, and loving someone means to care and understand. If they were your lover, you'll trust that they'll explain themself to you before you believe anything the world says about them.
Jestyn, or well, the king is silent for a moment. Hand still atop your head and you worry you've upsetted him, pushed too far, and maybe this is where you die now. Unpaid and unfulfilled.
His hand leaves you, returning to grasp your chin and tilt your head. His gaze is ravenous and smile sharp, you are perfect. Everything he desired and waited for. Seconds, days, months, years — All coming down to this.
You feel something click against your throat, a cold metal weighing heavy and when your hands panic, you find a collar snapped into place and you're forced to look at him again. "Mine." is what he calls you, my servant, my pet, my plaything, my fool, all his.
His grip turns tighter now, bringing your face closer to his - close enough that you feel his breath waft against your face. He towers over you, in the same way a predator finally cornered his most prized prey. And as your heart beats and mind race, you drown in the red of his gaze, as everything turns black.
KOM Jestyn belongs to @thepipiuw !! Drabble and AU belongs to An0nymous-C !!
